Call Me Cancer
by Xana Vlec
Summary: Bullets? Not a problem. Mafia boss? Hardly worth her time. Cancer? A different story entirely. The expected 5-year survival rate for all patients in whom lung cancer is diagnosed is less than 15%. Natasha's story from diagnosis until the very end. Will she be the 15% or the 85%? How will her boyfriend, Clint, deal with the news?
1. Denial

And you taught me not  
To take for granted  
The time that we have  
To show that we care  
Speak into their hearts and their minds  
while they are here  
**-Things Left Unsaid by Disciple**

"You have Stage IV cancer. I'm sorry." The words echoed in her mind. No matter how she willed them to change, they wouldn't go away. She had... cancer? She couldn't have it. She was the Black Widow and she had faced all sorts of villains in the past. The thing that would be the end of her couldn't be cancer, could it? Natasha's fingers laced through her hair as her breathing escalated.

Facing a gun was easy, it was something she could say she was used to. But this was something totally different. The thought of her dying was so far off on a mission, but now all the statistics rolled through her mind. Lung cancer, lung cancer. About 6 out of 10 people with lung cancer die within 1 year of being diagnosed with the disease. Between 7 and 8 will die within 2 years. Lung cancer kills more people than breast, colon, and prostate cancer combined every. The expected 5-year survival rate for all patients in whom lung cancer is diagnosed is less than 15 percent.

She didn't want to die! She felt a hand on her shoulder, but she was too absorbed in her own thoughts to care. How could she care when her death seemed so inevitable? She had less than a 15% chance of living through the next five years. Heck, she only had a 40% chance of surviving the year. She and Clint had often joked about the fact that they always beat impossible odds. Suddenly the impossible odds seemed to turn against her and they were mocking her.

She shook her head back and forth as small tears began to prick at her eyes. It wasn't even just the lung cancer. She had pelvic cancer as well and it was already a nasty thing. Would this take away her chances of ever having kids? She had never thought about it before, but now it was so real and she regretted never thinking about her future. She had always put it off because she knew that 'she would live'. But now she didn't know that she would live beyond the next month. She was Stage IV. It was the final stage where most people died from. They had caught it so late.

Would they even be able to operate on her? What if they thought it was 'too late' not just 'late'? Would they tell her just to sit there and die? She couldn't just let herself die! There was too much life left to live! Natasha let the tears drip down her face and sobs wrack her chest. "Shhh, it will be alright." The doctor tried to soothe. How would it be alright? Was that a joke? If so she wasn't laughing. He had just proclaimed her death sentence and now he was telling her that it would be alright?

She didn't push away his hand though. She needed some sort of comfort. She needed Clint. Natasha choked on her breath as the thought struck her mind. Oh, how was she going to tell Clint? How was she going to tell any of them? She tried to calm her breathing down, but her mind was still racing. Would they treat her differently if they knew? Would it become awkward because she was practically a time bomb? She had to tell Fury, but did she really have to tell the others?

She bit her lip tightly as she thought. She had been guilty of staring at people in wheelchairs and crutches. What would it be like to actually be that person? She didn't want to know, but it seemed so real right now. She didn't think she would be able to face any of them if they gave her that look of utter pity. Pity. She had always hated the word. It was the word that communicated how sorry a person was. Ha! They were only happy that their lives were so much better. If any of the avengers were to look like that when they looked at her, Natasha wasn't sure if she could bear it.

She couldn't tell them not. Not yet. "Are you feeling better, Ms. Romanoff?" The doctor asked gently. Natasha looked up towards Wane with a forlorn look on her face. She nodded her head up and down towards the gray haired man before leaning back into her chair. She was feeling better, but she wasn't feeling good. She doubted she would ever feel good now.

"I'm glad. It's a lot to take in and I'm sorry that I have to be the one to break it to you." The old man said kindly. Natasha was glad that Wane was her doctor. He had been helping her for so long with all of her various injuries. This was an ailment that neither of them had been expecting and that was what made it all the more painful. It had been an unexpected find as well.

At first she thought it was a syst. A few weeks later, it was still there. That was when she began to worry. She had a biopsy and here she was with very possibly the worst news in her entire life. It was worse than when she heard that her husband died. There was always the selfish part of her that was glad that she was still alive even in that situation. But now it wasn't someone else's life on the line. It was her life that could be lost. It wasn't a fast paced game that the outcome would be revealed in a few minutes. It was the game of days and months.

Play the cards right and you could extend your life a few months. Play the cards wrong and you wouldn't live to see your next checkup. It was a dangerous game, far more dangerous than anything she had done before. There was no training, no mentors, no backup. There was only your choices versus the cancer. There was no way to manipulate the cancer into moving slow, no way to convince it to leave peacefully. It was here and it was here to kill.

"It's alright, Wane." Natasha said with a sigh. She ran a hand through her hair before grasping her arm tightly. "What do I have to do?"

Wane rolled his chair over to the computer stationed in the room and grabbed the mouse. He scrolled over the pages upon pages of information before pulling Natasha's file up onto the screen. "Your cancer is called Alveolar Soft Part Sarcoma. Luckily for you, it's a slow growing type. It'll buy you more time than if it was one of the faster ones." Natasha didn't feel lucky, but it was a small mercy she supposed.

"If it was a faster growing one we would have already been too late." Natasha swallowed nervously at that. She hadn't even known it was around until only a few minutes ago. For some it already would have been too late? Fear welled up in her chest. The cancer moved too quickly and took people too easily. Would she become one of the numbers on the wall with the red letters 'deceased' printed neatly next to it?

"Unfortunately, this means it is also harder to treat. It's rare, Ms. Romanoff. I don't know how else to say it, but companies don't always produce drugs for cancer types this rare. There aren't many people who have taken these drugs before either. You'll be going into a field with pretty much no advance notice of what could happen to your cancer. It's something we have to deal with when it comes to sarcomas. In fact, less than a hundred are diagnosed with this type yearly. Not all of those diagnosed last the year so there are even less to test from." Natasha flinched unconsciously. To test from. She was a lab rat now. She was a rare breed and people would be trying to get her to take their medical concoctions. Heavens only knew if they would work or not, but she couldn't afford for it not to work! It had to work!

"Sarcomas are normally treated via the surgical route. I do know that your primary will probably have to be removed. The sooner, the better. From what the biopsy suggested, there's time for us to take it out. Would you like me to schedule an appointment for you?" Wane asked lightly. Natasha squirmed in her chair. She always had to make decisions quickly when she was on the field, but something like this was something to think over. However, if she waited, one day would be all that was needed to be the end of her.

"Yes... Please." She replied softly. She didn't like the idea of a surgery at all, but if it had to be done then she would do it. She absolutely had to survive.

"Alright, . We can talk about the details when next we meet." Wane gave her a soft smile and stood up from his chair. "You have my email and I have yours. If I need to contact you with any further information I will. Feel free to ask me anything you wish though. You're a strong woman, Ms. Romanoff and I know you can pull through this."

Natasha looked up at Wane sadly and said, "I only wish that I had your faith."

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey all! I know this is a new fic and some of you may hate me for it, but this is going to be a new pet project of mine! This one won't be on my update schedule quite yet because I'm trying to see where it fits in. I do know it will be biweekly though. So keep an eye out? (; **

**I'm going to be keeping this 100% medically accurate and it is based off of real life story, so don't worry about that. (; Leave a review and tell me what you think?**


	2. Anger

There's a man who waits for the tests to  
See if the cancer had spread yet  
And now he asks so why did I wait to live 'til it was time to die  
**-We Live by SuperChick**

She wasn't sure that she could look at them straight in the eye. That was why she kept on circling around and around the block. Every time she looked up at the mansion she thought about what she would have to say, but no words came to mind. Her brain was already hardly computing and telling anyone else was sure to go badly. There were some people she would be forced to tell like Commander Fury, but everyone else was optional.

She didn't want them to act differently towards her, but they would ask questions when she didn't go out on missions. The thought had struck her on the drive back that she probably wouldn't be able to take missions for a long long time. She hadn't taken any medicine yet, but Wane had sent her a message saying that he was going to prescribe her a drug called Sutent. It was then she figured out that the list of side effects was almost endless.

Rashes, fatigue, fever, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, upset stomach, mouth pain, taste changes, loss of appetite, yellowing skin, whitening hair, pain or swelling in arms and legs, coughs, shortness of breath, and even brain bleeding. Switch that around. How on earth was she supposed to hide all these side effects? She could overdose on Benadryl to stop some things, but she couldn't just run out of the room every fifteen minutes because she was ill! Oh goodness, what had she gotten herself into?

She pulled the car to a stop in front of the Mansion before hopping out of the SUV. She slammed the door behind her and locked the car as she headed through the door. Natasha blatantly ignored JARVIS as he welcomed her back into the tower. Instead she meandered off towards the elevator in the center of the building. She looked up the glass plated elevator and noticed that there were two figures in the tower.

Only the Avengers had taken residence in the Stark Tower shoot-off. This meant two of them had to be coming down. Natasha's hands clenched into fists. She closed her eyes tightly before opening them with fierce determination. She had to act like nothing was wrong. She couldn't let them worry, not yet. Her tumultuous thoughts betrayed her as the doors opened.

"Hello, Romanoff," Steve said cheerily as he stepped out of the elevator. He slipped out of the elevator and stood off to the side as Clint followed on his way out. "Where have you been? I don't think I saw you all this morning."

Natasha swallowed tightly. That's right. She hadn't even told them that she had visited the doctors to have a biopsy. "I had to check up at headquarters." It was a white lie. The hospital was under the jurisdiction of SHIELD so technically she was in SHIELD, just not headquarters. And it was a checkup, so she wasn't _really_ lying.

"Ahh, I see," Steve said with a kind nod. Natasha felt almost bad about fudging up the truth because she was sure that Steve would have been the first to empathize with her. He was too believing, too trusting. She didn't feel as if she could tell anyone now though. She could hardly tell herself the truth. Here she was, the Black Widow, wanting to cry into someone's shoulder. Here she was, the Black Widow, too afraid to afford herself that single luxury.

"Well I'll see you later then?" Natasha nodded in return before walking towards the elevator. A hand snagged her by the arm and she turned to look at Clint. The archer had a small frown on his face as he looked at Natasha.

"Nat, are you ok? You don't look well." Clint asked with concern layered in his voice. Natasha flinched under his scrutinizing eyes and pulled her arm away and nodded. It was too hard to fake it in front of Clint. She'd just have to mime her way out. "Nat, if something is wrong you know you can tell me, right?" She nodded again. She knew she could tell him, but how would she know how he would react? Rejection would be worse than anything in the world.

Because even if people said that it was just shock that caused them to react that way, those few moments were true feelings. People could always go back and fake later, but those few moments were when the real feelings of a person were shown. Maybe she could tell them eventually; she would have to tell them, but not now.

Clint sighed and rested his head on her forehead for a moment. "We'll always be here to back you up." Guilt wormed around in her stomach as he leaned against her.

She hugged him tightly before pulling away and giving him a small smile. "I know." She didn't. "It has just been a bad day. It'll be better soon." Anything would be better than what she was feeling now, but they didn't need to know that now did they?

Clint smiled back at her and patted her on the shoulder before turning back to Steve. Natasha watched as the two of them left the building before releasing the breath she didn't remember that she had held. "I'm sorry, Clint, Steve. I can't do it yet."

She stepped into the elevator and tapped the button for her floor. The doors closed behind her as she was slowly brought up into the glassy tube. Her face reflected in the glass and Natasha reached out a hand to touch it.

Was that really the face of a woman whose time was ticking away? Could it possibly be true that she would be dead in only a few years? No, could she only have months? The thought was chilling and she loathed it.

She slammed a fist against the glass and watched as her arm shook weakly. It was disgustingly weak. Was she getting weaker and she just hadn't noticed it? She had been feeling fine. She had only gone in because she thought it could be something, but she hadn't been feeling ill or anything. Could they have just switched her scans or something? Sick people were supposed to be strapped to hospital beds with IVs coming out of them. She wasn't like that so why was she supposed to be like this?

Most lung cancer patients die within a year or two? That would mean that they had felt really sick or something, right? She didn't feel like that so why had they pronounced her death sentence? The voice of one of the doctors in the hall echoed in her ears, "_Do you not think that we should hook her up with a team? She might only have a few months so it would be good to let her know._" One of the teams. Ha. She had taken the time to look it up in the car to confirm her thoughts, but it was almost even more depressing.

They wanted to sign her up with a death preparation team. She wasn't dying dangit! She felt just fine! She was still running a few miles without feeling too winded and she could steal beat up Clint whenever her annoyed her. So why had they said she was dying?

As the elevator began sliding through the darkness of the building, Natasha let a few tears roll down her face. She couldn't be dying. No, no, no! She shook her head violently as she punched the elevator again. Thank goodness Stark had layered it in film to prevent it from cracking. She laughed weakly at that. He'd probably throw a fit if he had known what she was doing in there.

Natasha held her hands to her face as tears began to drip down to the ground. Had she done something to cause all of this? Was this because of all the red? Was it karma for killing so many people? She almost regretted it all now, but she knew that her regret would do nothing. What was she supposed to do like this? Write a dumb will? She looked down at the glassy flooring with uncontrollable envy. The blasted thing would be around longer than she was. It wasn't fair!

Why would the buildings last longer than she would? Everything would last longer than her and it was just because of something that no one could control.

The elevator stopped and opened its doors to have Natasha storm out into the hallway. At the end of the hall, she threw open the door and slammed it shut behind her. First thing she did was grab the lamp by the doorway and throw it across the room. But that wasn't enough. Everything would last longer than she would anyways.

She grabbed the front table and kicked it over as she went on her rampage. She hated, hated, hated it! Why was she chosen to die while everything else would just keep ticking on? She stepped over the broken lamp and stared out the windows of the mansion. Life just kept moving on. No one knew what she was feeling and no one really cared. They just went around doing their work as if nothing was wrong, but everything was wrong!

She knew it was wrong to feel like this, but she couldn't help feeling angry at everyone. She wished that she could just forget everything that had happened in the past few hours. To forget that she had cancer and to forget that she probably wouldn't live out the next few years. How was someone supposed to deal with news like that? Was she supposed to resign herself to her fate of dying? She couldn't just wait and let time tick away, but what was she supposed to do?

It was the waiting game. Wait to see if you live and if you don't then you don't see the end of the game. She dropped herself down onto a burgundy couch and leaned back while she huffed in frustration. She had never been patient. When someone was in danger, she would go save them. When a bomb was about to go off, she'd run to disarm it. Sitting around in her room just waiting for the cancer to grow or to shrink was absolutely maddening. She didn't want to play this game, but it looked like she had no choice.

She looked over to the coffee table where the book "On Death and Dying" by Kübler-Ross sat innocently. Natasha reached out and grabbed the book and clenched it in her hand. She had been reading it just a few days ago. She gritted her teeth angrily before hurling the book across the room. "Stop pretending as if you know!"

Because no one would ever know. They could research how she felt, but they would never feel it. The Five Stages of Grief, her foot. They were the five stages of ultimate suffering. She shook as she stared at the crumpled book by the wall.

She couldn't tell anyone. She definitely wouldn't tell anyone about this. She wouldn't tell because she hated them. They had the single thing that she wouldn't have: they had the chance to live. She? She had the chance to die.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading this chapter! 8D Also thanks to OwlMay for betaing me~ Check out her fics too because she's simply awesome. She helped inspire me to write this as well because I was originally hesitant. :D Thanks May!**

**Review and tell me what you think?**


	3. Bargaining

I've become so numb, I can't feel you there  
Become so tired, so much more aware  
I'm becoming this, all I want to do  
Is be more like me  
**-Numb by Linkin Park**

"Nat? Oh hell, Nat, what happened?" The sound of Clint's voice just barely met her ears as she huddled beside the bedroom wall. Breathe in, breathe out. Rinse and repeat. It was what she had to do to get her on to the next moment.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, and she let herself be shaken for a moment. She didn't really care right now. Natasha fingered the broken glass between her fingers. She twirled it around her fingers over and over. It was as if she was in some kind of hypnotic state. It scared Clint.

He crouched down in front of Natasha, and he brushed her hair out of her face. "Are you feeling ill, Nat? Do you want me to bring you to the hospital?" If anything would bring her out of her stupor it was that.

"**NO!**" Her hand immediately clenched around the shard of glass at the word 'hospital'. She didn't want to go back. She didn't want to ever go back. "I'm not going," She reiterated in a low whisper. Drops of blood trickled down to the floor as she went back to rubbing the glass between her fingers.

Clint frowned and pulled the shard from her hand. "Nat, tell me what's wrong. You're obviously not well. Do I need to call Thor to carry you to the hospital or are you going to give me one good reason why I shouldn't?"

Natasha stared up at Clint venomously before pulling her arms tightly around herself. "I'm not ill. It has just been a bad day, that's all."

Clint sighed; getting Natasha to talk about herself was like pulling teeth. Clint wrapped his arms around Natasha, and rested his chin on her head. "It's more than that, Nat. If you don't want to go to the hospital, that's fine, but tell me what is wrong. For heaven's sakes, you look absolutely awful right now. And it takes more than just a bad day to cause someone to do... this."

The room was officially trashed. The lamp had not been the only thing to go flying. The glass coffee table, the wooden stool, and at least six books were all slumped against various walls. The glass from the table had all fallen out, and the stool was in pieces. Pages from the books were scattered around the room, and they told the tale of her anger.

"Fine. It was an _exceptionally_ bad day," Natasha grumbled. She hadn't expected for Clint to walk in without knocking, heck, she hadn't expected to see anyone for at least another few hours. It was just like him to do something like this, but it was a nuisance as well.

"I can't make you tell me if you don't want to, but bundling it up isn't good for you, Nat." She unfortunately knew it all too well. That was why the tradition of commiserating with each up after missions had sprung up. But that didn't mean she wanted to tell any of those things. They were so unnecessary.

Clint pulled away from Natasha, and he turned to leave only to have Natasha snag him by the jacket. "Don't go. Please," she mumbled. Clint shook his head in exasperation before sitting back down by Natasha.

"You're really a puzzle, you know. But I guess that's what makes you interesting," Clint said with a small chortle. He clasped his hand over Natasha's, and tried to ease her fingers off of his coat. "I can't tell if you want me around or if you're getting irritated with me. Maybe it's both at this point." He rambled on to help fill the silence. He hated it when she was quiet like this. He much preferred the witty and snarky woman he had grown to love over the years.

"It's both, but shut up." Natasha leaned on Clint's shoulder and let out a sigh. She didn't want to tell anyone, but she knew she would have to tell eventually. Fury was a definite for purely business reasons, but no one else really hard to know. She did feel this terrible sensation in her stomach when she thought about lying in front of Clint. All the others were so easy to lie in front of. She didn't have any particular reason to feel bad about lying to the others, but with Clint it was another story.

She loved the man, and it was incredibly hard to convince herself that lying was the right thing to do. Maybe it wasn't, oh she just didn't know anymore. "If you promise to keep quiet, I'll tell you. However, if you say a single word, I'll shut up. Understood?"

Clint nodded quietly, and looked over his shoulder to see what Natasha would say. "This morning I went to SHIELD hospital. I had a cyst, so I thought I should check it out. They put me through the ringer, scans and all. A few hours ago the results came back from this morning." Natasha closed her eyes, and she burrowed her head deeper into his shoulder. "I have cancer."

Clint choked up. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Natasha. "It has already spread, Clint. It's in my lungs already. I can't just escape or run away this time. My own body wants me dead now. Isn't it enough that everyone wants me gone, but now it seems that even my core wants to give up." Natasha hiccupped softly at the end. She couldn't help the tears; they just kept on coming. It was embarrassing to be crying so much, but the thought of having her life stolen away was too much. She couldn't even do anything to fight it on her own. Doctors and pills were all fine, but there was nothing _she_ could do but wait. She would do anything to have it be gone, but there was absolutely nothing!

"Nat..." There was nothing else he could say. It was too much to think of. Other people were supposed to have this to them, it wasn't supposed to be her. Looking at her shake like that made his heart clench. He turned to the side and wrapped her in his arms. They clung to each other silently as Clint's mind raced in circles.

This was why she had acted so strangely earlier. From what she said, it had already progressed far. How much time did she have left? He couldn't lose her! His arms tightened around her as he rocked her to his chest. "I'm so sorry this had to happen to you, Nat. If I could take it away from you to me, God knows that I would." His voice cracked as he held onto Natasha.

She was here, but how much longer would she be here? Clint wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. She couldn't die; she couldn't... "Nat, I love you." Clint buried his face into her hair and cried along with her. _Please don't leave me._

* * *

**Author's Note: A shorter chapter, but full of sweetness. When I wrote this I was thinking of the fact that when someone is terminally ill, the patient isn't the only one who feels pain. Those around them are pained as well since they have to sit around and watch their friend die. It's something that they can't ever accept no matter after how many years.**

**Thank to OwlMay for betaing me! **

**Thanks so much to you for reading! Send me a review and tell me what you think? (:**


	4. Depression

I know I'm a mess and I wanna be someone  
Someone that I'd like better  
I can never regret so don't remind me of it forever  
What if I had just pulled myself together?  
Would it matter at all?  
**-Would it Matter by Skillet**

Clint continued running his hand through Natasha's hair and murmured unintelligible words of comfort to her. The shock was still paralyzing. Natasha was his. He couldn't just let her go like that, he wouldn't. "We'll get through this, Nat. I promise." He would do anything to keep her alive, absolutely anything. He tilted her head up towards him and looked her in the eyes and said, "I don't care about the cost or about the trouble it causes; we'll definitely get you healed, got it?"

It sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself, but Natasha gave a sad smile and nodded. "Yeah, we will." It was what she would have to believe to get through the night. She leaned up to place a small kiss on his cheek before leaning back into his chest.

"Thank you," she murmured softly into his jacket. She needed the contact right now. It helped to confirm that she still existed. She had talked to Wane, but she had shied away from hugs and touches ever since that morning. Now, she could relax into his arms and feel safe. She buried into his chest and sighed. They stayed that way until the morning, holding onto each other and whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears.

When morning came, Clint awoke to lying on the floor, but with no Natasha. He blinked groggily as he tried to remember what happened before shaking his head to clear the fog. That was when the memories of last night came rushing back to him. He slammed his hand down on the ground to get back up when he read a resounding crack. He lifted up his hand to see multiple shards of glass sticking into his palm. "Ah shoot."

He bit his lip and gingerly brought himself from the ground and wobbled over towards Natasha's bathroom. He shook the handle only to realize it was locked. "Nat! Can you let me in? Or at least pass a pair of tweezers under the door!" A few seconds later, a small pair of silver tweezers flew out from underneath the door.

Clint sighed and used his left hand to pick up the tweezers before returning to the couch. He wiped the couch off before taking a seat back. He winced as he heard the distinct sound of cracking pottery as he sat down. It would be awful cleaning this up. He violently yanked out the glass shards from his hands and dropped them on the coffee table. He waved his hand and let a few blood droplets fly through the air.

"Nat! I need a ban-aid! Or six!" He yelled from his spot on the couch. He was trying his best to act normal right now. This feeling was caused by either denial or by worry. Denial because he didn't want to admit that there was something wrong in the first place. Worry because emphasizing Natasha's illness was bound to make her feel worse. Natasha was the type to go assassinate a mafia boss with a broken leg and an eye injury. Babying her was sure to make her feel absolutely awful.

"You're not helpless, Clint! And I'm sure you won't bleed to death," Natasha shouted back through the door. She rolled her eyes before turning back to the mirror. Her face was puffy from her tears and there were heavy bags around her eyes. She couldn't go out to face him yet. She looked like the living dead. Ha, was she the living dead? The thought brought a sour look to her face as she turned the tap on.

She splashed yet another wave of water into her face before turning the tap off. She snagged a seafoam green hand towel from off the counter top and rubbed it against her face. _Get yourself together, Natasha! You can't let them see you like this! _She dropped the towel back on the counter before back pedaling to the wall of the bathroom. She slid down to the ground and breathed in and out to calm herself. With any hope, by the time she left the bathroom she would look remotely normal.

"You wound me, Nat!" Natasha smiled. Clint had always known how to distract her, and right now, she was thankful for it. She leaned her head on her arms and stared at the door, knowing that Clint was probably waiting on the other side. Now that he was awake, she couldn't take too long. Admittedly, she had already spent the past two hours inside of the bathroom, and it was probably time to leave.

"In any case, do you want to go down and get breakfast?" Natasha pondered Clint's question. She was hungry, but... going downstairs for breakfast would mean seeing _them_. She couldn't afford to break down in front of them. Clint was one thing, but no one else really _had_ to know, right? But they would suspect something if she stayed up here forever... Ugh, what a nuisance!

"Sure. Just give me a minute!"

"I've given you almost fifteen while I bleed to death!" Clint quipped. The cuts had already clotted, so he wasn't really bleeding, but it didn't matter. He'd milk the banter for all it was worth. He rubbed his uninjured hand against his forehead. How were they even going to begin to explain what had happened to Natasha's room? Maybe he could rent a Tasmanian Devil and let it wild in the room. It would at least add to the realism of the thing.

He looked up as Natasha exited the restroom. Her hair was ever so meticulously pinned back, but Clint could just detect the signs of the night previous in her eyes. Small streaks of red ran from her iris to the corners of her eyes. He kept his signature smile on and tried not to notice the way she looked as he walked on over. "Hey Nat." He kissed her on the forehead and gave a cocky grin. He had to act like everything was normal, even if it killed him inside.

What he really wanted to do was hold her close and break down again, but that wasn't what she wanted or needed. He was keeping himself together for Natasha, only for Natasha. "Let's go," She whispered back as she smiled slightly. She peeked through the door to check to see if anyone was there. She didn't want to open the door for someone to see the room. She'd probably have to go fix it up later.

She slid out the door with Clint following after her, and the two went downstairs. The kitchen was located on the lowest floor above the lobby. When they arrived, Steve and Bruce were already eating at the dining table while Pepper was cooking in the kitchen. The three welcomed the couple into the room, but remaining absorbed in their food.

Natasha split off from Clint and wandered over beside Pepper. "Wait a second, Natasha," Pepper said as she kept a spatula over the thick piece of egg. She flipped it up into the air and caught it again before carefully positioning it on her plate. "How are you this morning, Natasha?" Pepper asked amiably.

_Pretty darn awful actually. I feel like I have a ruddy hangover. _"I'm well. How about you, Pepper?" It must have been the way she was talking, because Pepper turned to give her a skeptical glance. Natasha watched as Pepper's facial expression turned from relaxed to surprised to worried.

"No offence, but you don't look well, Natasha. Did you come back from a mission or something? You look like you haven't slept in days!" Pepper exclaimed as she sprinkled cheese into the proto-omelet.

"I just had some things to go over last night and it kept me up," she lied easily as she looked over Pepper's shoulder.

"This one can be yours. You like your omelets with just bacon and cheese, right?" Natasha hummed her response and looked back over to the table where Clint was chatting with Steve. She wondered what he was talking about.

"How was your night?" Steve asked while looking over his newspaper. He was the only one of the Avengers that bothered anymore as the others normally just checked a news website. There were just some things he couldn't let go of even in the new century.

"You don't want to know the answer to that," Clint said as he laid his head on the table.

"What did you do to your hand?" Bruce said with a raised eyebrow. Trust the doctor at the table to be the only one to realize having a bloody hand at the breakfast table was kind of strange.

"I put it through a shredder," Clint quipped as he made no attempt to explain what had happened. Nothing was coming to mind and if nothing presented itself then he wasn't going to both to make an excuse.

"Uh-huh," Bruce shook his head and turned back to his omelet. Both of them knew that Clint wasn't just joking, he was lying. Quietly, Clint wondered how much more lying he would have to do now that all of this happened.

* * *

**Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing this story! :D Next up will be Natasha telling Fury about her illness. **

**Thanks again to OwlMay for betaing me! /hugs/**

**Also, I'm setting up a writer's group called the Tesseract Project! We're going to be a group of Avengers authors that critique and give advice to fellow members. This way we can all get advice while exposing ourselves to different styles of writing. We're currently looking for members, so PM me if you'd like to apply! It's best if you have a previous story uploaded, so that OwlMay and I can see your writing style though. :) Thanks for reading!**


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